We're All Mad, Here
by Jateshi
Summary: Crossover HouseBtVS. House is sent to Sunnydale for a consult they have a remarkable number of unusual cases, after all. HouseBenGlory Crack!fic.


**Title**: We're All Mad, Here  
**Fandom**: House, M.D. & BtVS (honest)  
**Word Count**: 1,351 (again - so much for "drabble")  
**Dedicated to**: Pea, because she gave me the prompt. This is ALL her fault, k? (I love you Pea! snuzzles)  
**Summary**: Dr Gregory House is sent to Sunnydale General Hospital to help get their interns and staff up to scratch. After all, they seem to have an immeasurable number of "odd" cases each year, none of which get any sort of scientific explanations put on the files.  
**Notes**: Pea gave me a fandom crossover of House/Glory (from BtVS) and a prompt of "headcase" to base a drabble on. This isn't my fault, you know. And also - knowledge of both series (at least through season 5 of BtVS and minimum season 1 of House) is assumed. Or required. Leaving your sanity at the doorstep might also be a requirement. Also, my first time writing inside of either of these fandoms! 

**We're All Mad, Here**

It had to be Cuddy who'd recommended him to take the trip - the rest of the board wouldn't have put him forward for it, that was certain. Especially not the Optomology head who still was riled about the comparison to a rotting pumpkin. And Wilson wouldn't have done this to him, not so long as he still needed to borrow the ironing board. 

Normally against out-of-state consults, suddenly Cuddy had pulled him aside and handed him a ticket to California. The little envelope had included a return ticket, which was rather nice of them, and a note folded up and shoved between the airport's ticket verification papers. She hadn't been all that talkative about the reasons Gregory House decided. Leaning heavily onto his cane he flipped through the little ticket booklet. 

Some of that possibly had been related to interrupting his game boy time, which he rather nicely clocked alongside his clinic duty time. 

So now it was off to California, to visit a partner teaching hospital and impart his 'unique wisdom' to their impressionable, sparklingly-new interns. 

"Pack the beach cane," House muttered to himself, stuffing the envelope into his jacket and grabbing his helmet. 

--

Seated comfortably behind a desk, in an office nuzzled between the head of Radiology's and the leading surgeon's offices, House hooked his cane on the lip of the desk and picked up the first patient file. A glance at his watch, after a quick check of the patient's name (Faith) and diagnosis (none listed, although he did spot an arrest warrant tucked between admittance papers and vitals), told him that the primary intern he'd be working with would be strolling through his door soon. 

Another file, after some detailed flipping-through of the notes made on Faith, contained a miraculous blurb about the psychiatric ward, a caterpillar, and a meteor. House's brows were meeting his hairline as he flipped through the rather big file, catching the signature of the attending physician. 

"Ben." It sounded so mundane, compared to all of this medical mystery. "I bet their Diagnostic department gets a lot of funding," he added, setting the file down as footsteps approached. 

Lightly curled brown hair, simple brown eyes, and an earnest face - House almost grimaced at the picture. And, to top it off, the name tag read "Ben." A completely non-descript, unremarkable face to go along with his normal name. Grabbing his cane, House motioned for the man to close the door, sitting upright in the chair. 

"So you're Ben." Both hands were resting on the cane, causing the intern to pull the hand he'd offered back. House watched as Ben sat down, leaning back and slouching into the chair. 

"You must be Dr House, then." Ben smiled, House returning the facial expression with a rather apt impression of a seven year old for the briefest of moments. 

"Alive and kicking. As most of your patients seem to _not_ be." Not the smoothest of segues, but it worked rather well, Ben sitting up straighter in his chair. And looking, to House's keen eye, just a slight bit nervous. _Interesting_. "I'm not sure what you all have been told about me, but even my charting habits are saintly when I look at your files. 

"Who's the head of Diagnostics, here? And what department do you intern for exactly, Ben - you don't mind if I call you Ben, do you?" House gave the man - really, more of a boy - a mild smile, fingers tapping against the palm rest of his cane. 

Caught just a bit off-guard by the man behind the desk, Ben coughed once, twice, and then cleared his throat. "We, uh, don't have a Diagnostics department, Dr House." 

"So much for the extensive funding," House muttered. "Still," with a surge, House sprung to his feet, Ben following with a quick scramble out of his chair, "let's go see the patients and cure them. And then I'll tell you what you're doing wrong." Adding one jaunty smile to the mixture House gestured for the intern to lead the way. 

--

Three floors, two ER admittance rooms (who ever heard of a hospital needing so many ER staff? It was mesmerizing, watching the wounded victims stumble in), and four staff lounges later, House had seen it all. A quick visit to the Children's Ward where Ben related him the story of a doctor, a mysterious flu that killed only children and this off-color girl with blonde hair who feverishly spoke of vampires capped the entire visit off. 

House knew what was wrong with Sunnydale General Hospital, and he looked about smugly. He might rant and rave about how Cuddy never gave him enough funding at Princeton, he might toss insults and jibes at Wilson concerning his sex life, but they, at least, were all right. Everyone at Sunnydale, right down to the janitorial staff who whistled "Bring on the Rain" like it would somehow invoke a sprinkle to fall on this edge of California, was insane. 

Certifiably insane. 

Ben, he noted with a practiced eye, was insane as well. Ben had been dealing with raving lunatics who rambled on about ghosts, demons, a giant snake that had eaten half of the graduating class at the now-destroyed Sunnydale High School, and it was impossible to be unscathed in the face of all of that madness. He'd probably begin to crack, and eventually Sunnydale would be left with yet another withered husk of a student, except that this time it wouldn't be literal. 

It was no wonder half the causes of deaths listed here were "unknown" - he couldn't find reasons without a proper Diagnostics center, no matter how much of an expert he was. Infectious diseases aside, some of the corpses down in the morgue were just...odd. Twisted limbs with some parts of the body completely melted right off the bone - he'd love to find out what the reason was. 

But they weren't paying him to actually _diagnose_ anything, and he was never one to work for free. About to impart the cause of all of their problems, House swiveled (using his cane as an axis) to face Ben. 

"What we have here-" All of the words died on his lips, House settling on stunned silence. Ben _had_ possessed brown hair, but that was...changing. Into blonde hair, with a very memorable wave. And, House's brows once more rising to his hairline - but this time in respect - a red dress. And a bosom. 

"-is the produce department," he finished lamely, giving Ben - who probably was not Ben at the moment - a bedeviled smile. No idea who _this_ was, or where Ben had run off to. Never let it be said that he wasted a moment though, leaning on his cane and giving the unnamed female a very long, thorough, and appreciative examination. 

"Aren't you a little number," the woman drawled, hands resting on her hips. "Almost cute, with that limp and cane. You seeing anyone, darling?" She tossed her gorgeous, platinum blonde hair over her shoulder, that little red dress tightening to highlight her incredible assets. 

House was a male. He was quite proud of his manly maleness, point in fact, so he did what any self-respecting male would do in the presence of all of her talents - he let out a satisfied sigh. Quite satisfied, point in fact, when she shifted her stance and her breasts jutted out attractively. "The women fight for me," he quipped, making just a little white lie of the truth. "But at the moment, I'm seeing something truly _nice_." 

Glory pouted, wetting her lips and looking askance at the doctor. "Not _glorious_? The last transition must have sunk my image a bit - Ben's so ratty, compared to me. I'm glorious, Doctor House - _g-l-o-r-i-o-u-s_, not nice." She made the air-quotes with her hands on the word nice, to accent them. "I'm Glory," she added, with the air of someone imparting a truly important fact. 

Yes, House decided, all of Sunnydale was insane. Completely mental. 

He'd have to travel here more often. 


End file.
